How Do I Love Thee?
by obaona
Summary: How much does Padme love Anakin? Really? Vignette inspired by the XFiles.


Title: How Do I Love Thee?

Summary: How much does Padme love Anakin? *Really?* (Vignette inspired by the X-Files.)

A/N: Thanks to LianaMara for beta'ing. Yes, this was inspired by the X-Files – specifically, by the paranoia inherent in the series and the characters. ;) Don't kill me over what I do here . . . think of it as the explanation for the romance in Ep. II. (Just kidding!) And this is a bit odd, so you're forewarned. :p

The poem is by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. No doubt you'll recognize it. ;) This is probably the closest I'll ever get to writing a songfic – I wrote this without the poem and ended up adding it later. I think it fits in surprisingly well. :)

Feedback is, as always and ever, treasured. :)

***~*~***

_How do I love thee? Let me count the ways._

I walk forward with no hesitation in my step; I never hesitate. 

The medbay is quiet, orderly. Everything is white and bare. I know Anakin will know this life, a life of sterility, for a long time. It's good, I think, that the medbay on Coruscant is so serene. Whoever designed it, designed it well. There are no corners, no sharp edges, just curves and gently molded furnishings. For all its technology, there's something spookily organic about it. 

I know I'm distracting myself, but that's okay. It's not time yet; I can divert my thoughts if I so please. I can feel myself getting closer to him, because he is everything to me, but I must not focus on that now. I know what I will tell him; I've said very word in my mind.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height 

I'm not wearing one of my elaborate dresses, but instead a beige tunic and pants that make my skin look rather pasty. My hair is unbound, and lying straight down my back, with no adornments. My whole appearance is strict and unyielding. I wear no makeup.  I don't want Anakin to see Padmé. I want him to see someone strange, unknown. I think it will be easier if it's that way.

I think it will be easier for me, too. 

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight 

The steady click of my shoes as I walk is bothering me. Everything is muffled here, and it seems so sharp, so loud. I turn a corner, and I see his room. There are windows looking inside, and the door is open. It's airy and light, and yet Anakin seems a spot of still darkness. I pause momentarily, and then I step in.

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. 

He is alone, lying back in his bed. He is badly scarred, his hair gone and a particularly gruesome scar going up the side of his face and over his head. He has an oxygen mask on, and the whole area is being constantly supplied with oxygen. I hear the gentle hiss; I can taste the purity of the air. I walk slowly, further into the room, and the formerly rapid pace of the clicks fades to nearly nothing. 

I find myself hesitant. 

I love thee to the level of every day's 

His hand – the hand that was mechanical – is gone. It hasn't been replaced, clearly. It's just a stump now. His other hand lies on the white blanket. His eyes – his eyes are still blue, though. I can see the clear blue even as he stares up at nothing. 

I walk to his side, and gently take his hand, though I may regret he has me in his grip when I say what I have come here to tell him. 

_Most quiet need, by sun and by candle-light._

He frowns and turns to face me. The instant his eyes meet mine, his whole face lightens up. He can still feel joy in my presence, for all the darkness in his soul, all that I know him capable of even as I am. Palpatine is astute in this – this thing between the two of us. "Padmé –" His voice is hoarse, and he ends my name with a tired hiss.

"Hello, Anakin," I say softly. I can't bring myself to smile, for all that it would be only for him.

_I love thee freely, as men strive for right;_

Anakin eyes narrow in confusion. "Padmé . . ."

"Palpatine knows I am here," I tell him, attempting to forestall his confusion about me, who had fought against dictatorships and, to some degree, everything Palpatine now is.

"I – I didn't think you would –"

_I love thee purely, as they turn from praise,_

"With everything that has happened? The fall of the Republic? Yes," I say simply. "That is why I am here. I have something to tell you, Anakin. The truth."

"What is it?" Anakin says warily, and he shifts away from my stare, perhaps becoming aware of his physical state. I am not bothered by the scars, the mutilation, though. He is waiting, patiently, because it is me standing here.

"Palpatine sent me here," I feel compelled to say. I would not do this on my own, if I was not forced to by circumstances; I would never have him know this. Am I wavering? It is becoming more difficult to get out the words; they seem stiff and dry in my mouth. "I'm not who you think I am, Anakin. When the Trade Federation invaded my world, I acted as I saw best within my role. It caused problems for Palpatine, but he expected it, you see."

"What are you saying?" Anakin asks, becoming alarmed and looking at me. 

"I have always been independent, but my role was always to be the wild Sabacc card," I continue. I can't stop now, if I stop I won't be able to start again. "Even my fall on Geonosis was planned to provide for the escape of Dooku. I knew I couldn't let him be captured." I smiled finally, crookedly. "And even then, you went on and you did your duty."

Anakin just gazes at me blankly.

"Our falling in love . . . Palpatine didn't expect it at first, but when he met you on Coruscant that first time, he began to sense our lives converging. And I prepared myself. The assassination attempts were initially were just the efforts of the Trade Federation, and by that time Dooku and Palpatine had no choice but to follow along. Palpatine was the one who suggested Obi-Wan – and you. When I finally saw you . . ." 

_I love thee with the passion put to use_

Anakin is starting to look angry now. Angry and hurt – and frightened. He is not physically withdrawing, but I see it nonetheless. "It was all a lie? Palpatine's lie?" 

"Palpatine has always desired your power and there was little he would not do to get it. You know that now," I say matter-of-factly. "And you will serve him to gain more of your own. I have no doubt, really, that you will try to kill him one day and take his place as Master. I know that much of the Sith."

"Padmé . . ."

"Palpatine found me when I was ten. He's molded me to fit his uses ever since then," I say quietly. I remembered those days well. It was those days that made me realize now I had to play along with Palpatine's plans. "With the Force at first, but it became natural for me soon enough. He caught me early enough, I suppose."

In my old griefs, and my childhood's faith. 

"You married me . . . our love was a lie?" Anakin asks, and I can see the brokenness in his eyes. I feel ill and profoundly empty at the sight. He still doesn't seem to quite believe it; complete belief would only come with time.

"Yes, it was," I say, a deceit in what is meant to be a moment of truth. Our love was not a lie. "You are Palpatine's now. This conversation is merely to show you that." His, as I was once his.

Anakin's hand is loose in my grasp. "I don't believe you," he whispers.

I shut my eyes briefly. He doubts that I would betray him so, and yet I have. "I'm going now," I tell him. There is nothing more to say, for I will not let myself continue for fear of losing myself. "Good bye, Vader."

_I love thee with a love I seemed to lose_

With my lost saints – I love thee with the breath, 

I walk away. I want to double over, I want to express the pain in my heart, but I cannot. Not now, when I am so close to my goal. I move down the hall, farther and farther away from Anakin. He doesn't call after me, to which I feel a faint, distant sort of surprise. So scarred, my Anakin.

The truth is, none of my love was false, even though my identity was. Not my initial anxiety – though it was useful – nor the love I felt for him. It is my love for him that makes me walk away. It is my love for him that is making me assume this role of not caring for him. I will play it until it is done, so that Palpatine may suspect nothing. 

_Smiles, tears, of all my life – and if God choose,_

He must never know of our children. It is my love for him that keeps them safe. My love is enough. They are gone, to places that I know nothing of, lives that I will never see. Palpatine knows my love for Anakin is true; he knew it when he ordered me to tell Anakin I did not love him – to tell him the truth of my past and my identity – as the final despair to bring him fully to darkness. He will not be surprised by my suicide. It will not bother him. My most useful role is over, and my death will seal my secret. 

I step outside. The wind caresses my face with a gentleness I do not feel I deserve; almost as though the Force itself is touching me. I'm saddened by the thought, and I wonder if I will join the Force – if it will accept me. I take out my wrist blaster, a very flat and small thing. It fits into my palm easily, and the barrel into my mouth even easier.

I pull the trigger.

_I shall but love thee better after death._

[fin]


End file.
